


Cheers

by deltachye



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x neal caffrey]
"And in the end, we were all just humans... drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness."-F. Scott Fitzgerald





	1. Chapter 1

_"In life, unlike chess, the game continues after checkmate."_  
**Isaac Asimov**

“Neal!” you hissed under your breath. A tear leaked out the side of your eye, falling onto the floor. It wasn’t something the product of sadness — it was of pain.

You were pinned beneath the museum gate like a fox with its tail caught in a trap.

“Neal!” you pleaded again. A heist that was supposed to be ten minutes in and ten minutes out slammed down on you. Hard.

The security door had just caught you by your ankles, and no amount of wriggling under the heavy iron would free you. It hurt to move, and every second passing as your blood strained to pump past the block made your breathing shallower.

The man you’d once thought to be beautiful, with his dark brown hair that turned light in the sun and icy blue eyes that were playful with his conning smile searched to free you. His nimble fingers you loved running through your hair and down the contours of your back played across the bars, searching for some magical switch that’d release you. Sirens wailed outside and you couldn’t estimate how many seconds were left until the police came charging in with their guns and handcuffs. Neal had to get you out _now_.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurted out. What? He was standing now — you had blinked when he got up — and he was… backing away. That wasn’t right. Neal wouldn’t leave you. He’d promised on that hot and sticky summer night, when you were both drunk and young and ready to conquer life head on.

_“Cheers.”_

_“Cheers.”_

_The delicate clink of wine glasses was musical in the silent night. You sipped the red wine, one you couldn’t name but loved all the same, allowing your trained palate to detect flavors of cranberry and oak._

_“It’s delicious,” you commented quietly. Neal had chosen the celebratory drink, as he always did, and you never were able to find fault. His warm body found its way close to you, radiating warmth in the already damp air as his smooth and toned shape pressed against your softer one._

_“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, just as softly, into the nape of your neck. The words blew strands of hair aside, making you shiver._

_“Always the romantic, prissy wine guy,” you retorted, making him laugh. He bit the lobe of your ear playfully, earning a giggle in return as you set your glass down._

_“Well, that’s why you love me, isn’t it?” he said in a tone you couldn’t discern from seriousness or plain teasing._

_You paused to think about his words. Skeptically, you responded, “Oh. I love you now, do I?”_

_“ _I_ do.” He propped himself up to look at you closer. You were turned slightly away from him. Shifting the sheet along with you, you allowed his hand on your waist to guide you to face him and pulled yourself up to equal height._

_“Can I trust that from a conman?” You raised your eyebrow._

_“Can I trust_ you _?”_

_There was silence._

_You took your glass back from the birch bedside table and held it up. The reflection of the burgundy filled glass reflected off of his eyes that balanced between a deep blue and grey in the low candlelight._

_“Cheers?”_

_Your gaze was challenging now. He smirked in the way in which he knew he had won, and held up his own glass. You watched as he touched it to yours again, but more deliberately, and looking at you he said back,_

_“Cheers.”_

_You drank, and he kissed you, stealing the red from your mouth as he did with your love._

Your feet were numb under the metal grate. You could feel your skin chafing off to your bone, but what hurt more was the dismissal in Neal’s eyes.

He was leaving you.

“Neal, get back — help me! Help me, goddammit!” you didn’t care to be unheard any longer. The NYPD surely already knew you were there; it was just a matter of time as to when they’d show up. Your voice was high and shrill as your hand fell in a fist against the tiled floor, tears welling in your eyes. You trusted him.

He left without another word.

“Neal!”

You shut your mouth when the police showed minutes after, so that they wouldn’t find him. The only thing keeping you from telling off the cowardly bastard was the hiccupping sobs that racked your body, not allowing you to even speak of your newborn hatred.

 

\---

You made your way pleasantly up the elevator of the NYC Federal building, all the way up to the White Collar division. You’d been called in for assistance on a case, something that the agent claimed was ‘too sensitive for the phone’ but in reality was most likely too lazy to debrief you.

The elevator was slow. You pulled a hair elastic around your wrist absentmindedly, being reminded of the cuffs that had once been there instead…

“No,” you said to yourself aloud sternly. “I’m past that.”

You probably looked crazy on camera, just talking to yourself, but it helped. You ejected the memories from your brain, and felt the elevator come to a stop.

You stepped off, feeling awkward without a briefcase to hold that all the agents swarming around you were. You weren’t one of them, not technically, so you supposed you deserved the self-consciousness of stares that followed you as you opened the glass doors.

A CI, they called you. Criminal Informant, Confidential Informant — whatever the old guys liked to call you. You had skills. Good skills, good knowledge, and a _generally_ good heart. You didn’t mind working for the FBI, since it meant you were out of jail and —

No, no more thinking about jail. A sear of pain flashed across the scar that went from your ankle bone to across your Achilles’ heel, but you ignored it and kept walking. You confidently smiled at everybody as you made your way up the stairs to the office you sought.

There it was. Burke. At least, you thought that was how it was spelt. You peered through the glass wall. Two men were in — one sitting and one standing. They both weren’t facing you. You knocked gently three times.

The one standing turned and nodded at you with a smile, waving you in after he uncrossed his arms.

The door easily pushed open, and you smiled politely to what looked to be Agent Peter Burke. The cheap suit sold it for you.

“Hello, you called for me?” You introduced yourself afterwards by name, and the recognition took light in his eyes.

“Um… yeah. Yeah, I did. Haha, I almost forgot! Sorry to have to call you in so suddenly, I mean… I heard you were the best at these types of things. Pleased to meet you, I’m — ”

“Agent Peter Burke, of course. I’ve heard lots of good things about you!” you grasped the outstretched hand of the rambling older man, shaking it once before releasing it.

“Did you?” he asked, chuckling to himself. He crossed his arms. “Me and my CI were just talking about the case.”

“Oh?” you asked, not knowing Peter had another CI under his belt. Quite the collector, you thought to yourself. “I haven’t been fully debriefed myself, so if you would mind…”

“Of course not. Neal, can you go…”

Neal?

“…forms. I’ll call you up when we’re ready.”

“Gotcha’, Peter.”

Your heart seemed to start beating again, and you inhaled sharply when Neal Caffrey turned around.

Blue eyes that bordered with green and grey, dark hair that turned light in the sun, and a strong jaw that boasted smug smiles of all assortments.

“…you,” you breathed, riding it out on the exhale. Neal froze in front of you, his eyes searching your features as if not quite sure you really stood in front of him.

You waited for him to say something. Anything at all.

But instead, he just smiled. “Sorry, have we met?”

You felt a sickening taste in your mouth, like you’d just taken a sip of wine and found it to be blood.


	2. Chapter 2

  
_”Hate hurts the hater more’n the hated.”_   
**Madeleine L’Engle**   


Agent Burke invited you to sit, and you collapsed in the chair. Your knees felt weak and the room was tipping to the right ever so slightly… Neal. He was still alive. And he refused to acknowledge your existence.

“...all right?”

You blinked several times and looked up, meeting the older Agent’s concerned eyes. You nodded furiously, hoping it would also clear your muffled hearing. 

“Y-Yeah! I just felt like I knew that guy from somewhere,” you lied. “Maybe from the… CI profiles. I look through them sometimes for cases.” Your tone was too rushed. You flinched internally — the lie was too flimsy. 

“I haven’t heard of a CI having authorization to browse the locked files of other informants.” Agent Burke had lost the shred of emotion he had expressed — his tone was cold and his eyes were calculating. You swallowed.

“You got me,” you sighed, shrugging casually and leaning back into the suddenly freezing chair. You flashed a charming, coy smile. “I just wanted to test your skills. Most people talk like they’re aces when they can’t even remember what FBI stands for. You should see how many frauds I caught with that line.”

Burke’s face scrunched up inquisitively, but after a few breathless seconds he seemed to be convinced. He nodded a few times, and then turned to his computer. “Well, maybe you’ve seen Neal from the news. His arrest was quite a big thing.”

“Oh, was it?”

Burke looked offended, staring at you as if waiting for you to laugh. Your eyebrows rose slowly. “What is it?”

“You don’t know how I caught Neal Caffrey?” He sounded more disappointed than suspicious. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sound of his full name, one that you had forced yourself to forget. As if a cork had flown off a bottle of champagne, memories exploded back into your thoughts. The feel of his hand on your waist. The exhilaration of pulling a heist. The finality in his eyes when he’d left you under the grate.

“No.” You pushed reality first, clenching your hands together in your lap so your nails dug into your skin. “I’m sorry, maybe I was out of town when it happened… I’m sure it was great, though.”

“He was a great thief. And con, too. It’s still a miracle that I got him… go for the weak spot, right? I shot the arrow right into his heel.” He made a hand movement and a silly noise that depicted the arrow, making him look like he was three. 

You laughed along too, concealing your face of annoyance. You knew he was the greatest con already. You hated it. You hated him. And you didn’t want to be reminded. Instead, you grinned. “What was it? A treasure chest filled with chocolate coins?”

Burke smiled at your joke. “No, it was a girl. Kate Moreau.” He said the name with an air of sentimentality. “She’s dead, now. It’s a shame…”

“Oh.” It was all you could muster. The room was spinning again and you had to clutch the arm of the dollar-store chair. Of course he could move on so fast. A conman smiles before murder.

Before you could attract Burke’s attention to your odd behavior again, you asked for him to debrief you. Your note of desperation was taken for impatience and he laughed it off, allowing you to sink back.

You couldn’t even listen. Kate Moreau — who was she? You wondered why Neal chose her. Maybe she was a thief, too. You couldn’t see Neal living an apple-pie life with a prissy girl… but then again, just whom _did_ you know? You fell in love with an idea. 

Not a person.

You thanked Burke once he was done talking, rose unsteadily and allowed your feet take you to where you didn’t want to be. 

“Name change, huh? No wonder Peter didn’t recognize you.”

You stared down at the man, not the idea, your jaw clenched. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to satisfy that smug smile sat atop his stupid face. Was it smug? Or completely fake? You couldn’t even tell.

You were uncaring of anything remotely close to small talk. “I couldn’t walk for a month,” you told Neal in a quiet voice. “They almost cut both my feet off. Because of you.”

“Ah.” His expression melted away to guilt, and he turned away from you in his chair.

“You forced me to go there. And you left me there, Neal.”

“I did, okay?” Neal was abruptly standing in front of you, a tendon in his jaw trembling. “I didn’t come back for you. I didn’t save you, and I couldn’t. I’m sorry.” His entire body was rigid and hostile, and you felt like shrinking away out of existence. 

Instead, your face soured. “Sorry? You think ‘sorry’ did anything for anybody?”

“What else do you want me to say, then. Huh?” His eyes were narrowed with fury, and then he spat your real name out like it was an insult. You flinched when he did. You’d worked hard to forget the past you, and he was throwing it back into your face. “Well?”

He continued angrily. “It wasn’t my fault that you got caught. _I_ shouldn’t be the person you blame. Blame _yourself_.”

“Myself.” You were almost shocked at how much of a child he was.

You saw the look of fleeting guilt in his eyes before it transformed back into apathy. Yes, he wanted you to direct your grief towards yourself so that he could be free. You inhaled sharply, bringing yourself up to a fuller height so you could meet his eyes.

Bitterly, you said, “Kate sounds like a sweet girl. Too bad that when you killed _her_ , she actually died. Tell Mr. Burke I’m off the case. And tell _yourself_ , that you’re a miserable bastard. You obviously haven’t heard it enough.”

You left, exiting out the glass doors without another word. When you made it to the elevator, you fell to your knees, and cried.


	3. Chapter 3

  
_Rome is also built on ruins._   
**Eliza Griswold**   


You sighed deeply as you sat in front of a random painting, one you didn’t know or care the name or aspects of. Your first thought after bursting out of the FBI building was to find a place of comfort.

Funny how that was surrounded by expensive things you could easily grab and run with. 

But then you realized, it used to be Neal. Your home and your comfort used to be with Neal and him alone…

 _“ Kate sounds like a sweet girl. Too bad that when you killed_ her _, she actually died.”_

Had he really gone so far as to try and kill you, though? He _did_ try and help you. But then, why did he leave?

With frustration at your own churning emotions that flickered back between hatred and forgiveness, you stared intently at the painting in front of you. It looked like it was painted wholly by accident — a purple smear across a white canvas. Some kid probably threw some purple paint across and said something deep about it for fast money.

“Stupid,” you muttered to yourself, uncrossing your legs so that you could rest your arms on your knees. The bench was cold against the skin under your skirt but you didn’t quite care. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

“Actually, the colour represents a quote by Mark Twain. _‘Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.’_ Read the plaque.”

The voice made you inhale sharply. Neal.

You looked behind you to see him already sitting down, your eyes caught on his shiny and expensive looking tie clip. You turned your nose with disgust at him, placing your hands down on the metal bench to get up and leave, but he caught your wrist. You whipped back to look at him, meeting large blue eyes that said it all — 

‘please’.

You lowered yourself back down.

“You always had an eye for the hidden meaning,” you said resentfully. You refused to look at him, focusing on the circle of white the fluorescent bulb above made. His hand was still around your wrist, warm.

“Maybe because I cared more.”

You had to bite your tongue so that you didn’t say anything back. How dare he? _He_ was the one at fault here — he had no place to mock you.

“Let me go, Neal,” you said, calmly. You tugged, but his grip tightened. His fingers slid into your palm and you had to hold your breath with panic. You didn’t know what to do. Why was he holding your hand like nothing had happened?

“Or what?” His eyes were teasing. 

“You know I’m not into this kinky stuff,” you shot back at him, a line you had used while handcuffed in Paris during a dark and sweaty night. It brought a smile to his face, and you had to look away again, but you were smiling too. 

“That’s where we met.”

He was right. That one job had either been a gift or a cruel joke… to this day you couldn’t tell.

_“What the — what the hell are you doing?!”_

_“What am I doing? What are _you_ doing?”_

_He obviously wasn’t security. So why was he crouching in front of the bejewled necklace you were here to steal?_

_Even through the dim red lights of the Louvre, you saw his eyes narrow suspiciously._

_“Who are you?” he demanded._

_“The hottest person you’ll ever meet. Now give me the jewel.” You saw his eyes flicker with bewilderment as you placed your hand out, gloved fingers beckoning._

_“You’re not serious.”_

_“Yeah, I am. Give me the goodie, pretty boy.”_

_You saw him shift uncomfortably. Of course he wasn’t going to give you the necklace, only an idiot would. You just needed to get him away —_

_He gave you the goddamn necklace._

_You stared at it, then up at him. Surely it had to be a glass fake. It felt heavy in your hands. The jewels weren’t glass, and the gems weren’t oily. It must be real._

_“There. Now go, ‘hottest person I’ve ever met’.”_

_“But — ”_

_An alarm blared, cutting you off, and a metal cuff snapped itself around your wrist. You knew the sound before you could even look. The man grinned at you, holding his hand out for the jewelry. Your gaze jerked to your demise, following the chain to an emergency lever that was tipped._

_“Y-you know, I’m not really into the kinks,” you stammered, your fingers still wrapped around the diamond necklace. “The way to my heart is through my stomach. Or, unlocking handcuffs.”_

_“I’ll be sure to make you some good food when you’re in prison.” He snatched the gold chain from your fingers, grinning triumphantly._

_“O-oi! Give it back! I’m really good in bed, I promise.” You were desperately babbling, hoping you could latch him here long enough to get him busted with you. You knew you couldn’t pick the lock fast enough._

_The man looked you down, smiling. “Yeah, I can see that.”_

_He then started to back away, his eyes, bluer than any you’d seen before still with yours. And then, before leaving, he said one more thing while saluting you,_

_“Cheers!”_

_You stamped your foot. “Dammit!”_

“You never even told me your name,” you remembered. “You’re not the gentleman you claim to be.”

“Well, you’re not a classy lady either. You told me you were good at having sex.”

You nearly choked while swallowing, having to press your lips together to suppress a laugh. You turned to look behind you instinctively, but there was only clean empty space. Shaking your head at Neal, you rolled your eyes.

“You’re not allowed to say such vulgar stuff in a museum.”

“There’s nobody around. Besides, the cameras don’t record sound.”

“They don’t, huh? So, if I told you that I was going to rob the museum right now, nobody would know?”

Neal’s lips rose into a small quirky smile that still made your heart jump. “No.”

You laughed again. It felt good to. You hadn’t in a while. You looked down at your right wrist again, where Neal’s fingers had looped in between yours. You exhaled almost sadly.

“Neal…” you started, but he didn’t let you finish. He kissed you instead.

It was furious and close, much more than you had imagined would be acceptable. He pulled you to him, his fingers digging into your smooth and curled hair as you tried to find balance on the chair. He had thrown himself at you, and you felt yourself sliding lower and lower on the seat and closer and closer to him. 

You didn’t resist it. Your mind shut down with confusion and lust, your arms riddled with goose bumps as you reached for him. You pulled your hand through his hair, felt his hot back, and ran your fingertips against the rugged outline of his body. His tongue tasted sweet even after all these years. His lips were smooth and soft, tasting mildly of fruit. 

And he was all yours.

You had to pull back to breathe, finally remembering to only when you realized the burn in your chest wasn’t desire but rather your lungs telling you that you would die. You gasped for air, Neal divulging in your neck once you had parted from him.

“But… the camera,” you said weakly as his tongue danced across your sensitive skin.

He paused, and then pulled himself back, helping you back into a sitting position as well. “That’s all you can say?” he laughed quietly, pulling a misplaced strand of hair back behind your ear.

“You’re out of practice,” you commented jokingly, trying to calm your racing heart by looking away from Neal back to the painting. “I shouldn’t have clothes on right now.”

“I can fix that for you,” he offered, and you had to succumb to a fit of laughter. You looked away again, your heart and mind settling, and the inevitable dawned itself to you.

Would you take him back?

“Nobody’s been like you,” Neal said, breaking you apart from your thoughts.

“Hm?” 

“Kate, and Sara, and Rebecca… none of them were like you.”

You didn’t know why he was listing the names of girlfriends, but it made your chest tighten. You swallowed past the lump forming, focusing on breathing. “Okay.”

“If I had known you were this close the entire time…” his voice was slow and thoughtful, eyes glazed over. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” You said each syllable deliberately, still wondering if you were making the right choice. He looked up at you with his eyes widening with horror as he realized what you were saying.

“But — ”

“You left me for dead… I might be able to forgive you, but…” you looked away from his disbelief, not wanting to choke up. “I don’t think I can love you again.”

Neal exhaled sharply, and you were afraid to meet his gaze again. You decided you should leave, but Neal placed his hand on top of yours again. You looked back slowly, fearful of what he would say.

“Then at least let me give you this.”

You saw him draw something out a bag you hadn’t seen him hold, and saw it to be a corked bottle. A bottle of wine, and when he flashed the label to you, you had to sigh.

It was the one you and he had shared when you had pledged your love to each other.

“They let you bring that in?” you asked, masking your emotions with another joke.

“We just made out in wide open space. I think they should update their security.”

You stifled a snort, flicking your eyes to the roof. When you looked back down he had already uncorked the bottle, pouring out red wine into a lame plastic cup. 

He left it on the bench in between you, just one, and then watched you expectantly. It was an offer. Take me or leave me.

You shakily picked up the glass and took a sip, sweet flavours singing to you exactly like they had before.

You held your cup out to him, where he clinked the bottle lip with it gently. He still watched you anxiously, waiting for words.

You couldn’t help but smile, overwhelming relief and joy flooding through your body. You might not have loved him the same way you did before, but you still loved him. It was definitely there. And seeds of the violet flower still grow.

“Cheers, Neal.”

“Cheers.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: http://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/146660373896/cheers-t-reader-x-neal-caffrey-and-in-the-end


End file.
